Life was beginning to settle into a fragile peace when everything shattered again.
My only brother — my mother's pride — had lost his way. Without a father's guidance, anger filled the empty space inside him. He started moving with the wrong friends, men who promised freedom but carried destruction.
Rumors spread — they said he had joined bad groups, maybe even IPOB. I refused to believe it, but fear lived in my chest. Then one night, chaos broke out. Shouts. Flames. Smoke. Before dawn, our house — our only inheritance — was gone.
People said it was because of him. They said he had brought the fire upon us. But to me, he was still my brother. I searched everywhere, asking, begging, pleading — but he was gone. Disappeared into the wind.
Till today, I don't know if he's alive or dead.
That pain never truly fades. It becomes part of you — a scar you learn to live with.